


The Hunger

by hegemony



Category: Bandom, Hip Hop RPF
Genre: Frottage, M/M, Porn Battle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-15
Updated: 2011-08-15
Packaged: 2017-10-22 15:39:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/239634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hegemony/pseuds/hegemony
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The one where Patrick can get what he wants, and Lupe tries hard not to acknowledge that it's what they might have been building all along.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Hunger

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [if you are what you say you are](https://archiveofourown.org/works/219544) by [gonnafeelgood](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gonnafeelgood/pseuds/gonnafeelgood). 



> Originally posted to the Porn Battle July 2011, but underwent a major rewrite for added erectile action!

It's easy to be mistaken on the subject, so Lu'll be clear: he's been around this block before, tasted flesh of all genders, colors and makes. He's cherished and been idolized, lived and breathed devotion to another and also had his fun. He's carried on with the shambles of sensation that often pass for a 'heart' in this day and age.

That said, Lu's probably a crazy idiot for thinking he can do this.

He's willing to admit that they don't really know what they're doing. After all, it's not like they have to as long as Patrick keeps being that goofy 'hipster' idiot that doesn't ask questions when he could ask for cuddles, or give his body after he's exhausted his voice. It's always the little things P does, he thinks to himself, that make it so obvious. Patrick's got this something-- call it a knack for improvisation.

Lu bites his lip at that, squints his eyes shut, as that shoebox of emotion also points out that it doesn't take much to really set him down this road.

P's commitment to working this out reveals itself in the uncanniest of places. The last time they were here, so close-- so deathly, gorgeously close, it was backstage at a concert, electrifying post-show high in Lu's dressing room. It was flowers ripped from the paper wrapped bouquet Patrick had gleefully pushed into his hand. It was the illicit, incoherent thrill of a simple touch, curling Lu's fingers under so his hands were clenched down on the dressing room table, the knick of a nail as it slid against the soft skin of Lu's erection. It had been how Patrick, ever so bold as to slide the sunglasses from Lu's face, don them himself before getting on his knees and taking Lu into his mouth. It had been the deep, trembling groan as he'd watched Patrick take everything, leave him sated and bare and had risen and walked away, a gentleman's request for due chase.

That was months ago, so there shouldn't be a real reason to marry it toward the sensation of being here. Now, it's the way Patrick addresses the lines of Lu's shoulders while they're working in some kitchy tiny studio all by their lonesome. Lu's heartbeat doesn't skip, it's not commercially viable affection, but there's a shiver when P lines up and tucks behind Lupe, heat transferred between cheap skater punk t-shirts pressed in countries that'd balk at such an affair.

It's just right, Patrick's nose nuzzling the line of Lu's fro in the back, the tickle of P's lips on the ball of his spine. They roll into each other after that, Lu turning to claim that mouth in a smooth, fluid arch. He knows Patrick would be grinning, calling him a show off were it not for the lightning quick flicks of tongue. He feels the first touch of Patrick's hand sliding onto the bare skin of his hip, a burrow underneath cotton and they needed this, finally. Well, _he_ needed it-- it's nice bonus that Patrick wants to take the journey with him, too.

The revelation of familiarity is a torrential wave of desire, Lupe's feet in the sand at high tide. In his minds eye, he can imagine himself sinking, sinking, control eroding under the taste of bitter sweat and salt as he lets his lips skim across the milky skin of Patrick's neck.

He sinks his hands into the fabric on Patrick's little jeans that pass for back pockets, and sighs: the familiar option to place his hand into Patrick's hair is tempered by a minefield of hair gel. Patrick stands a little bolder at that, arches his back out and his ass into Lu's hands, like he's a vixen instead of a lover. Lu's mouth quiets that urge down, and it only takes a little bit of pressure to tuck Patrick's hips back under the trunk of him, pulling them flush. The boy takes the hint, pulling him close, an eager grind. His tongue is slow and taffy-sweet, the rhythm of a bossa nova in his whole body and the silence of the space.

Their erections line up head to head under layers of denim. Lu's mind goes blank for a second with the empty, delicious bliss.

P backs off a bit, breathing heavy before they're kissing again. A tight little thrill rolls up Lu's chest, and the moan he chokes out is foreign to his own ears.

"Fuck," P says, their hips finally locking together, mutual attraction and arousal. Lu grins: he hates cursing, can't stand the inelegance of it most times but right now, he's enraptured by the same feeling of temptation. The hunger grows, and Lu's hand has to venture, slides down beyond his belt, a little cupping pressure at a place his lower half can't reach, not right now.

 _Slow down_ , Lu's hands say as he holds P's hips hostage for an indulgent second. The feeling stretches out for eons, gossamer tendrils of an orgasm as sensitive as a phantom limb. It turns his whole body into a tripwire. Lu's body rolls, his head hanging, his hands clenching. Patrick's snarl is of nothing but pleasure, darkening like storm clouds on a horizon. They both keep the rhythm, the pressure, the two of them licking into each other's mouths, P's hands wander in ways Lu doesn't let happen to him often, pressing against the back of his knees and thighs, tracing the small of Lu's back. They could move on, pushing shirts up and the leaves of pants back, get skin to skin, but that's for later, this is perfect now.

Now, he remembers, closes his eyes and lays back, watching the light of revelation peek out from underneath.

Now.

Now.

Patrick moans, grinds deep, and suddenly the air snaps. It's combat, explosive, twisting turning, tumultuous. The anxiety that often comes with a Stump-inflicted erection recedes for the boldness that always attacks moments away from orgasm. He's no longer afraid to ruffle, to smear, to bite and lick and pull. He's grabbing into the hardened gel set on P's hair, he's grasping onto the shirt almost so hard the buttons will pop. He's shoving hard enough he's surprised nothing's chafing or ripping, there's only friction lighting the fuse.

"C'mon, c'mon," P chants against his lips, biting at Lu's lip, folding his hands under Lu's chin, "want you so bad."

Hips work harder, hands grabbing at skin and finally, finally Lu exhales and lets it all slip through his fingers. He washes away in the tide, his vision blanks out and his body mutes his mind. P's groan of completion feels fleeting, an echo as he slumps into Lu's shoulder, a wet open mouth gasping at the exposed skin.

Patrick waits a beat and then says, firm, "We need a break."

"A break, like a walk or like a break?"

"Just need to get out of here, we could do with some food, I think," He says it so definitively even though he's breathless and shaken to the core. His eyes are a little glazed over with afterglow, their little secret.

Lu smiles, "is that a royal we, or a 'you and I?'"

"Don't make me specify," Patrick sighs, gripping Lu's t-shirt, kissing him one last time. "I think I could use a walk. I'd like you to come with me. Happy?"

"Mostly. I could use some fresh underpants, though," Lu says. "Don't make me walk around in public like this, man."

Patrick does, and doesn't look in the least bit remorseful about it as he shoves his hands in his pockets and hums a swung-beat version of _The Show Goes On_ , all bounce and new energy.

Lu's lips curve into a satisfied, thick closed-mouth smile. Patrick looks over at him, looks like he wants to push him against the brick wall they're walking by and kiss that look off his face.

"Maybe later," Lu says.

"Likely later, actually," Patrick corrects. He's right: almost certainly later, they'll do this right and get naked and fu--

Lu sighs, he's got it _bad_.


End file.
